


The Transfer

by Sawsbuck Coffee (RosesAndTheInternet)



Series: Changing Times: A Divergent Rewrite [2]
Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Gen, Mild Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24937969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosesAndTheInternet/pseuds/Sawsbuck%20Coffee
Summary: Angela Eaton has only ever wanted to be free. This is his one chance.
Series: Changing Times: A Divergent Rewrite [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/938712
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

September 2nd, Year 497 [2 years, 11 months, and 30 days until The Fateless]

The mirror in my house has always been loose. It doesn’t sit quite right in the frame; if you touch it, it shifts like it might fall. It’s always bothered my father - I can tell; he tries to fix it before cutting my hair or his, tries to push it back and readjust it but it continues to be loose. I think it might fall one of these days, but it hasn’t yet.

I like to think that it’s some sort of metaphor for my life. It hasn’t fallen apart yet, but it’s getting there.

“You know what to expect,” my father says as he trims the ends of my hair. When he’s done, he runs a comb through it before pinning it up in a bun. Sometimes I wish my hair was curly like my mother’s. I wish that I looked more like her in general, anything to keep me from looking like my father at least. “You’ll sit behind me and wait for them to call your name, when they do you’ll go up to the stage and take the knife from the faction representative. Then you’ll cut yourself and drop your blood in the right bowl.” Our eyes meet in the mirror’s reflection for a second and he tries at a smile, which is practically a foreign concept to him.

He touches my shoulder and I notice that we’re about the same height now but I’m more frail looking, my clothes baggy even for the normally loose Abnegation style. My father on the other hand is broad shouldered and stronger than most Abnegation. 

For as long as I can remember I have found his strength terrifying. When my mother was alive I remember her being small and thin, and when my father would stand near her I remember thinking that he could snap her in half. He broke her wrist once, I was eight at the time and I don’t remember why, just the two of them fighting in the kitchen and the sound of the bone snapping was so loud that I heard it in the living room. When I came in to see what had happened – a stupid idea really given that the only thing my father hated more than my mother crying is me seeing her cry because he said it would inspire me to be weak like her – she was sobbing, still caught in my father’s grasp. He gave her a disgusted look and then shoved her back into the counter and left, muttering.

My mother hardly left the house anyways, but I remember specifically while her wrist was healing my father forbade her from leaving. He said that it would be embarrassing to have to explain that his clumsy wife broke her wrist falling down the stairs.

The feeling of him almost gently squeezing my shoulder draws me out of the memory, just one of dozens filled with pain and terror. The vast majority involve my mother crying whether silently as she cleaned my injuries as best she could, or sobbing because my father had hurt her severely and she was desperate for it to stop.

“The knife will only hurt for a moment. Then your choice will have been made and it will all be over.”

I wonder if he really has any concept of pain, if the part of him that is parental like he should be ever thinks about what he does to me when he’s the monster that’s terrorized me all my life. I hate this part of him, I know that it’s all an act but it makes me wonder what my life might have been like if he were actually good like everyone says he is. But then he shifts back into the man I have always known; the one that I would say tore me apart if there were any part of me that was whole in the first place, the one that I do believe my mother loved until the day she died no matter how much he tormented her.

My heart pounds in my chest and I flush. “Don’t worry about me handling the pain. I’ve had a lot of practice.”

He narrows his eyes and his grip on my shoulder becomes uncomfortably tight. My anger evaporates and is replaced fear. But he doesn’t strike me, he just sets down the comb in front of the mirror next to the scissors. He accidently brushes the mirror and it shifts in the frame, filling the hallway with the sound of scraping. My father walks away, leaving me to sweep up the hair. When he’s gone, I press gently on the mirror, trying to shift it back into its place before I close the panel. For a second I think the light illuminates something behind it, but I close the panel anyways. I’m not about to pry the glass out of place just to investigate something that’s probably just a trick of the light.

When I’m done, I go back into my bedroom and stare blankly at the broken objects still scattered about the floor. I blink away tears over these objects that have been a comfort to me all these years as I kneel down near them to put each piece into the trashcan one by one. These little trinkets are all that I had. When I was younger I would take them out after an especially bad night and just sift through them while the tears ran down my face, carefully examining each one by the light of the moon. I kind of do that now, looking carefully at each shard before I throw it in the trash. As I do this one thought rings through my mind:

_I have to get out._

I rise from the floor when I’m done and pull my mother’s sculpture out from under my pillow. It’s still perfect even after a night of sleeping on it. I’ve always gone out of my way to keep it as pristine as the day she gave it to me, in the morning light the sapphire blue seems especially vibrant. It’s easy to see what my mother liked about this object. The day she gave it to me I asked her what it did and glanced back toward the door, afraid that any moment my father would storm in.

She smiled at me and said that it didn’t do anything obvious, but then she added, “ _But it might do something in here_ .” She touched her hand to her heart. “ _Beautiful things sometimes do_.” And then she smiled very fondly and happily like nothing in the world was wrong.

I don’t know if any of the objects I’d collected over the years could ever compare to her statue, they weren’t exactly beautiful things like she’d said. But they were comforting because they were _my_ things and I loved them.

I wipe my eyes and put the statue on my desk next to my stack of schoolbooks. It gleams as the sun streams through my window and before I leave this room forever, I take one last look at it and manage a smile.

Downstairs, I’m too nervous to eat but I shove a piece of toast in my mouth anyways to avoid raising questions. My father ignores me in favor of the morning paper, pretending not to notice when I wince as I sit back in the chair, my back still raw from last night’s beating. It’s better when he ignores me, I think. In his eyes, the only time I am worth paying attention to is when I’m messing something up.

He still doesn’t look away from the paper when he says, “Did you get that mess in your bedroom cleaned up?”

I nod. “Yes, Sir.”

He nods as well and goes back to ignoring me.

_I have to get out_ , I repeat to myself. I swear that last night will be the last time he ever lays a hand on me.

He finishes reading and hands his plate and coffee cup for me to rinse out. When I’m done we leave the house without so much as looking at each other. As we walk down the sidewalk past our neighbors who are also making their way to the Choosing Ceremony, Marcus greets them kindly. I’ve always wondered how no one can see the person that he really is. If everything was really so perfect for Marcus Eaton and his family than how could they explain me and my complete lack of presence in the community? As Abnegation community is pretty much all we have, it’s hard to make individual friends but as a faction people are very close. But I’ve never been a part of that; at any point that I did not absolutely have to be working, my father preferred for me to stay in the house. If our neighbors found that strange I wouldn’t know because I was never around.

When we reach the Hub, my father puts his hand on my back and I straighten, trying hard not to grimace or flinch at the shocks of pain that run through my body.

_I have to get out_ , I repeat again.

I continue this mantra as we climb the stairs, trying to keep my breathing steady even though my throat burns and my legs ache. I focus on the path ahead of me through the sea of bodies, trying to focus on why it matters that I get to the top. With every step I take I get closer to my freedom, this is my only chance to be free of my father.

We make it up the seemingly endless amount of stairs, finally reaching the grand hall in which they hold the Choosing Ceremony. They will call us up in reverse alphabetical order; one by one every sixteen year old in the city will claim a faction as their own.

As we take our seats, my father in the front most row and me right behind him, he puts his hand on my shoulder. “You know what to do,” he says, and it’s more like he’s telling himself than me. “You know what the right choice is. I know you do.”

Andrew Prior’s family sits down near me, the man himself sitting with my father as the leader and representative always have a front row seat.

Representative Prior’s children are two years younger than me. Beatrice and Caleb, if I remember correctly. They came to my mother’s funeral, but did not speak to me. That said, I didn’t speak to much of anyone.

A hush falls over the room, signifying that the ceremony is starting and the only sound is the clicking of heels against the tile on the stage. The Dauntless leader takes her place center stage in front of the five bowls, brushing her black hair away to the side. She looks out at the crowd and smiles, white teeth seeming almost blindingly bright against her dark skin, black clothing, black hair, and impossibly large black eyes.

“Welcome to the Choosing Ceremony,” her voice is smooth and if there were any sound left in the room then her voice silenced it. “a most momentous occasion in everyone’s lives; a staple of our way of life and, in fact, to our survival. Our youth are the future of our city; our next leaders and the carriers of our legacy. The choices made here today determines not only their future, but the future of us all. Every day we continue to survive in pursuit of a better tomorrow, and on this day we celebrate that better tomorrow. The future belongs to our youth, those who know where they belong. I would like to congratulate them on their first step into their lives.” The crowd applauds her as she pauses both for dramatic effect and to breathe. I have heard about what an amazing speaker Azalea Morgan is, what an amazing person Azalea Morgan is. My father has never cared for the Dauntless but even he acknowledges that Azalea is some sort of genius.

“Five hundred years ago, our ancestors found the unity that humanity had strived toward for so long. They found the root of human weakness in five places, the things that divide us from one another and thusly have led to the near downfall of humanity time and time again; ignorance, cruelty, cowardice, dishonesty, and selfishness. In the ashes of another great war, our city’s founders gathered together the ancestors of everyone sitting here today and created our factions, five doctrines and the ability to choose which to live by. We do not have much left from that time, but we must always remember what endures and will continue to endure. Our city has been standing since the time of our founders and before; it is our home, it is the only place in the world that our founders believed to be safe. We know what our predecessors believed, and we know the founders’ names. We know what sort of people they were and the system that they laid down for us became the foundation of our lives. Centuries past have led us to improve upon it, but at our roots we all live by the same core principals of those who came before us. Julianna Gilbert founded Candor on the idea that only when dishonesty was eradicated could humanity know peace; today they are our city’s trusted judicial branch among many other things, a faction thirty thousand people strong.” As the Candor applaud I think of the lies I have told year after year, about this bruise or that cut, the lies of omission I told when I kept Marcus’s secrets.

“Ray Brighton believed in dealing with humanity's greatest downfall at the root; hate, aggression, cruelty. His people have become the kind and gentle Amity, now a staple to everyone’s survival and the largest of our five factions.” I think of the peace of the Amity orchards, the freedom I would find there from violence and cruelty.

“Glynda Seibold believed that conflict could be ended with the eradication of ignorance, that understanding would light the way to the future that her people, that all of us, deserved. Five hundred years later, Erudite is deeply essential to our way of life and unyielding in their pursuit of progress. “ Erudite is Abnegation’s enemy and the easiest way to cause strife with my leaving. With everything I could learn there, maybe I’d even be able to find a way to bring my father down.

“Miles Arden believed that the root of all strife was selfishness, the callous indifference to the suffering of others in pursuit of one’s own benefit.” Azalea looks toward the Abnegation section, fixing her black eyes on seemingly all of us at once; her stare makes me shiver, but then she smiles ever so gently and my apprehension dissolves. “They are our city’s trusted leaders, and the caretakers of the most vulnerable among us.” _This is for your own good_ , that’s what my father would always say before his first blow; as if beating me was some sort of sacrifice, as if it hurt him more than it hurt me.

“And the fifth founder believed that cowardice was truly to blame.” A few cheers rise up from the Dauntless section. “Kerrian Price believed that the only hope for humanity’s survival was to find bravery within the heart of every soul and in doing so they lit a fire that burns brightly almost five hundred years later.” She smiles again, looking toward her still cheering faction. “Dauntless has provided this city with protection from threats both outside and in by honing both physical and mental strength than any fear that could strike them.” I think of the fear that has been pressing down on me all these years, of the way that my will has been ground to dust under my father’s heel until today.

“That is how we came to have the five factions that we know today, that is how we came to know all that we have. Our founders would be proud of all that we have accomplished, the heights that we have flown to. They would be proud to see the unity that we have achieved, for in truth our strength lies not only within ourselves, but within each other. We are five factions, but we are also one city and in our city we find who we truly are.” As she finishes her sentence, the hall erupts into applause, the Dauntless the loudest among us.

Azalea smiles graciously and allows the applause to taper off on its own before she continues. “Let us begin this momentous occasion. Each sixteen-year-old will come forward when their name is called, take the knife that is offered to them, and drop their blood into the bowl representing the faction of their choice. Their blood represents a commitment, a promise to the faction they have chosen; the promise to place loyalty to their faction above even their own family, faction before blood.”

“Faction before blood,” everyone in the room echoes her.

“We will begin with Gregory Zellner.”

I watch Gregory Zellner walk to the stage and take the gleaming silver knife from a man built like a giant standing just behind the bowls. I recognize him as Dauntless’ representative, Max Donnahough.

Gregory allows his blood to drip into the dirt, announcing his commitment to Amity.

It does seem fitting that pain should follow me from my old life into my new one, the bite of a knife cementing my choice. But even now I do not know what faction I will choose as my haven. Amity is the obvious choice, with its peaceful life and kind people. In Amity I would find the sort of acceptance that I have craved my entire life, the unconditional sort of care that the faction is known for. Maybe over time it could teach me to be at peace with myself.

But as I look at them, in their reds and yellows, I can only see whole, complete people capable of supporting one another. They are too perfect, too kind for someone like me driven by fear and hate, someone who knows only how to fight and survive.

“Dakota Vermillion-Malachite.”

Dakota saunters onto the stage and drops her blood in the water, returning to the faction that she came from. I learn easily enough to keep up with the Erudite, but I also know myself well enough to know that it is not somewhere I should be. There are people in Erudite who would sink their claws into me and tear out my heart. As if the people alone weren’t a powerful enough deterrent, I know that living that sort of life would only strangle me. I want to be free, not shuffled into yet another prison.

“Helen Rogers,” Azalea says.

The ceremony is moving too fast, it’s coming too close to being my turn.

Helena chooses Candor.

I have heard enough rumors about Candor to be frightened of it. I have heard whispers of their initiation in school, how they force you to expose your every secret, to dig up every truth inside of you, rip yourself apart with your bare hands. I would have to flay myself alive to be Candor and that’s not something that I can do.

“Anne Erasmus.”

Anne – whom I never spoke more than a few syllables too – stumbles forward and accepts the knife Max holds out to her with shaking hands. She cuts into her hand and chooses Abnegation, easy for her because she has nothing to run from. She just has a kind, welcoming community to rejoin; and besides, no one in Abnegation has transferred out for years it is the most loyal faction going off of Choosing Ceremony statistics.

“Angela Eaton.” I shiver and it takes me as second to recognize that as my name. My father looks back at me with stern eyes. I push out of the chair and stumble going up the steps, my foot catching on the hem of my dress. I take the knife that Max offers me, feeling the cold metal and gripping it tightly as I exhale. Looking to my right I glance at Azalea and she offers me a reassuring smile. Her pupils are all but invisible against her eyes which I swear aren’t even brown, they’re black as pitch, dark enough that I can almost see my reflection in them.

I think of what my test administrator, Tori, said. _You’re the one that has to live with your choice_. So what choice can I live with? What will keep me alive? Not Erudite or Candor, both of which will eat me alive. Not Abnegation, where I am trying to get away from. Not even Amity, where I am too broken to belong.

The truth is that I want my choice to drive a knife right through my father’s heart, to pierce him with as much pain and embarrassment as possible. There is only one choice that can do that.

I look back at him and cut deep into my hand, so deep that it brings tears to my eyes. I blink the tears away and allow the blood to collect in my palm. My back throbs as my shirt rubs against the still raw skin, skin that he tore up day after day, year after year. I look at Azalea again quickly and then open my palm over the coals. I feel as if they are burning inside of me, filling me with smoke and fire. Igniting every nerve with that flame that Azalea spoke of.

I am free.


	2. Chapter 2

I don’t hear the cheers of the Dauntless, I hardly hear anything but the ringing inside my own head. I don’t dare look back to see my father’s face as the arms of many in my new faction extend toward me. All around me people comment me on my choice.

I sit down with the other initiates, next to a black haired Erudite boy who looks me up and down and then rolls his eyes. I must not look like much, clad in Abnegation gray and scrawny, built like a light post after a sudden growth spurt. The cut on my hand is still gushing blood and now dripping onto the floor. I take off my jacket and press the sleeve into my hand, saturating it with blood. It doesn’t matter, I won’t be needing these clothes anymore.

The Dauntless members stand after the last person chooses and push forward in a mad rush for the door. I look back just before the doors, unable to stop myself, and I see my father still sitting in the front row with a few other Abnegation gathered around them. He looks stunned.

I smirk a little. I did it,  _ I _ put that expression on his face. I am not the perfect Abnegation child fated to fall in line and be swallowed up by the faction. Instead I am the first Abnegation to Dauntless transfer in at least a decade.

I turn away and run to catch up with the others, hearing their quick steps echo through the stairwell like thunder, all of them laughing and shouting. I hitch up my dress to keep myself from falling; my legs and lungs burn by the time we all stream out the doors at once. They’re all so loud and suddenly I find myself unsure of my choice. Loud and energetic was never my thing, if it ever could have been my father took that from me. How can I ever fit among them? I guess I’ll have to find a way; I guess that I don’t have a choice.

I push ahead, searching the crowd for my fellow initiates but they all seem to have disappeared. Up ahead I can see where the train tracks run suspended overhead. The Dauntless begin climbing up the metal scaffolding, crowding onto the train platform.

“Hey, you’re not a bad runner.” Tori appears next to me. “At least for an Abnegation kid anyways.”

“Thanks,” I say, shrugging off the second part of her statement.

“You know what’s going to happen next, right?” She turns and points at a light in the distance, fixed to the front of an oncoming train. “It’s not going to stop. It’s just going to slow down a little. And if you don’t make it on, that’s it for you. Factionless. It’s that easy to get kicked out.”

I nod, I’m not surprised that the tests have already begun. I know that this isn’t the hardest thing I will have to do, not even close. The Dauntless are as eccentric as they are wild, known for death defying stunts that they call having fun.

Tori grins at me, “You’re going to do just fine here, I think.”

“What makes you say that?”

She shrugs, “You strike me as someone who’s ready to fight is all.”

The train thunders toward us and as the first car passes the people closest to the end of the platform jump on. In a dark streak, I catch a glimpse of Azalea hanging from the bar next to the door as she opens it for the others near her.

Tori starts running to catch up with the cars near the front and I mimic her, matching her stride for stride despite the pain in my lungs.

She grabs the handle at the edge of the third car and swings herself inside. I do the same right on her heels, fumbling at first but managing to, albeit very clumsily, fling myself inside the car. But I am unprepared for the turn that the train makes and I lose my balance, smacking into the metal wall.

“Smooth,” says one of the other Dauntless in the car. He is younger than Tori, with dark skin and an easy smile.

“Finesse is for Erudite show-offs, Amar,” Tori says with a roll of her eyes. “She made it on the train and that’s what counts.”

“She’s supposed to be in the other car, though. With the other initiates,” Amar says. He eyes me curiously, like I am some sort of oddity that must be examined very carefully. “But if she’s a friend of yours then I suppose it’s alright. What’s your name, Stiff?”

The words stick in my throat. I cannot bring myself to say it here in front of the people who will become my friends, my family. I can’t and won’t be Marcus Eaton’s daughter anymore.

“You can call me Stiff for all I care,” I say, trying out the banter that I’ve heard the Dauntless use in the hallways. “And...I’m a boy - uh, um, a man.” I’ve never said that out loud before, not even to myself. But it doesn’t feel like a lie.

Tori gives me a strange look and for a moment I am afraid that she will tell Amar my name, which I’m sure she remembers. But instead she just nods and a part of my stomach unknots. I turn toward the open doorway, still gripping the handle.

It had never occurred to me before that I could just refuse to give my name, or that I could give a false one. I could construct an entirely new identity here, create a life of my own choosing. I’m free here, free to snap at people, and free to refuse them, and free even to lie.

The train begins to climb higher, a rise so gradual that I would not have even noticed if I hadn’t been staring at the ground. Fear seizes my chest and I suddenly feel as if I’m falling. My grip on the handle tightens and I sink into a crouch with my back against one of the walls, resolving to not do that again and just wait to get wherever we’re going.

“Get up, Stiff.” Amar nudges me with his foot sometime later. His words are not unkind, they seem to be a more natural version of the banter I tried earlier. “It’s time to jump.”

“Jump?” I say.

“Yeah.” He smirks. “Train stops for no one.”

I stand up, looking down at my hand, the part of the jacket I wrapped around it now thoroughly saturated with blood. Tori shoves me toward the front.

“Let the initiate off first!” She yells over the wind.

“What are you doing?!” I snap.

“I’m doing you a favor!” She shoves me toward the opening again.

The other Dauntless step back, each and every one of them grinning at me like I’m a meal. I grab the edges of the door so tightly that the tips of my fingers turn white and lean out to get a look ahead to where I’m supposed to jump. The tracks hug a rapidly approaching building, though the gap looks small at first it seems to grow and grow as do the chances of my death.

My entire body shakes as the Dauntless in the cars ahead jump out. None of them miss the jump but that doesn’t mean that I won’t be the first. I take a deep breath and then push off the edges of the door with all my strength.

The impact knocks the wind out of me and I lay on my side, my face pressing into the cold gravel.

“Damn,” someone says behind me. “I was hoping we would get to scrape some Stiff pancake off the pavement later.”

I would glare at them, but I’m a little busy trying to remember how to sit up without vomiting. I didn’t know that it was possible to be dizzy with fear.

Still, I just passed the first two tests of initiation, two steps closer to becoming Dauntless. I jumped on the train and then jumped onto the roof. Now the question is how we get off the roof. Something in me suspects that it doesn’t involve stairs or an elevator.

They’re going to make us jump.

I close my eyes and pretend like I am not here with these insane, ink-marked people. I came here to escape and instead I have found myself in an all new kind of hell. But it’s too late to back out; my only hope is to survive it.

“Welcome to Dauntless.” Azalea steps up onto the edge of the roof. I slowly stand up and join the other initiates as I notice them beginning to gather near the front and the members stepping back. Now that I can actually see all the Dauntless members, I realize that it’s not just a bunch of crazy people barely in their thirties at the very oldest. Some of the members have gray streaking their hair, wrinkled and scarred but with a life in their eyes that matches those younger. And children, the younger ones being herded off through a door, too young to make the jump probably. But some as young as ten continue to stick around.

“Here you will either face your fears and try not to die in the process, or fold and leave us.” She stands on the ledge in high heeled boots that make me nervous for her. But she seems sure of herself, standing with the same poise that she did on the stage. I have no doubt she could tip off backward to what waits below without so much as a gasp.

“The only way for our initiates to enter the compound is to jump off this rooftop. As usual, the offer is extended to them first; Dauntless-born or not. Who among you will be the first to prove your bravery?”

She steps down from the ledge and scans the crowd of us with her black eyes. We all exchange looks, silently daring someone else to go first. Finally, a Dauntless-born steps up. A cheer rises up from among his friends and he flashes them a grin.

“Go Zeke!” One of the girls shouts.

Zeke hops onto the ledge but misjudges the jump and tips forward right away, losing his balance. He yells something unintelligible and disappears.

The Candor girl next to me gasps, but all of Zeke’s friends and many of the older Dauntless laugh. I don’t think that was quite the dramatic moment that Zeke had imagined when he stepped up.

Azalea gestures to the ledge before her and the Dauntless-born begin to line up. With some hesitation, so do the transfers. There are at least a hundred of us, maybe more. I know that I will have to join them, I will have to jump and it doesn’t matter how I feel about it.

I move toward the back of the line with stiff joints and fear writhing around inside of me.

Azalea cues jumpers at thirty second intervals and slowly the line is dissolving. Then it is gone and I am the last initiate on the roof. I step onto the ledge and wait for my cue. The sun is setting behind me, painting everything in a golden light. The wind rushes around me and I almost feel like that will be the thing that pushes me off the ledge.

“Go,” Azalea says after what feels like an eternity of waiting.

I close my eyes and lean forward, everything falls out from underneath me. I flail for something to hold onto but there is only the rush of air around me.

Then I hit a net.

It curls around me and snaps back, sending me back toward the sky. I finally open my eyes and stare up at the fire colored sky. A hand reaches out toward me and I take it. Someone very strong pulls me out of the net and onto a platform. I breathe heavily, fighting the urge to vomit and look up at who pulled me up. A man with bruised knuckles and dark eyes smiles at me, Max.

“The Stiff!” He claps me on the back, making me flinch. “Nice to see you made it this far. Go wait for the other initiates, the others will be down in a second I’m sure.”

I walk down the stairs onto the solid stone. The Dauntless compound must be underground, which does explain why I’ve never seen it before. I imagined that it would be dangling in mid-air from flimsy cables, my worst nightmare in building form.

One of the Amity girls smiles at me. “I’m Mia. Are you okay?”

“It looks like she’s trying not to throw up,” says one of the Candor boys.

“Just let it happen,” another Candor boy says. “We’d love to see the show.”

“Shut up,” I snap without thinking.

To my surprise, the do. I guess they haven’t been told to shut up by an Abnegation before.

A moment later I see another form fall from above. Rather than allow Max to help her out, Azalea rolls off to the side of the net and lands on her feet, her heels making a sharp sound against the stone. She brushes her windblown curls from her face and grins at us all. Amar follows her a few second later, coming out of the net the same way looking rumpled and wild, ready for the next insane stunt already. He beckons us closer to him, his hands spread out in an almost peaceful gesture.

“My name is Amar,” he says. “I’m your initiation instructor. I grew up here and three years ago I passed my initiation with flying colors, which means that I get to be in charge of the newcomers for as long as I was to be. Lucky you.” His wild smile grows and he gestures to Azalea. “This is our leader, Azalea Morgan; and up there is our rep, Max Donnahough. They – well, I think that they can introduce themselves.”

“I’ll keep this brief,” Azalea says, stepping forward. She speaks over the sound of more people hitting the net, the Dauntless members still coming. I cannot help but think about those kids, worry about them.

“You have all come to Dauntless wanting something; whether it’s to be the kind of brave that you wish you were, an adventure, or just a sense of belonging unlike anything you’ve ever known.” She takes a deep breath and her eyes seem to skim over the crowd while simultaneously making eye contact with each one of us. “I have been exactly where you are, each and every person you will encounter in Dauntless has. We have all stood where you stand today, all initiates unsure of what to expect and frankly a little afraid. That’s fine; it’s okay to be afraid. As Dauntless we constantly quest to be free from fear, to not allow it to control our hearts as it does so many. Together we are strong, together we make each other strong. I look forward to seeing each and every one of you grow into the Dauntless that you wish to be. I will be checking in on your training periodically because as leader it is my personal responsibility to make sure that each and every one of you is keeping up and stays well. If any of you ever need something, you need not worry about coming to me about it. You are members of my faction and I serve you as I serve your Dauntless elders. I trust that Amar can take it from here.” She flashes us one last smile before turning away and disappearing down a hallway.

Azalea has, in the past few hours or so, shown more genuine warmth than I have ever seen any Abnegation leader or council member show in my entire life. I was not expecting the leader of the Dauntless seem so gentle and kind. The air that she holds about her is both incredible and frightening. I don’t have to guess that she’s incredibly smart; she owns it like I’ve never seen a Dauntless do, moving and talking with a grace and power to rival even the Erudite.

“Dauntless-born and transfers will do most of their physical training separately so that the Dauntless-born don’t turn the transfers into paste immediately,” says Amare and at this, the Dauntless born share grins and snickers. “But we’re actually going to try something different this year. The Dauntless’ leaders and I are curious to see if knowing your fears at the start will help you throughout initiation. So before we even let you get changed, we’re going to do some self-discovery. Follow me.”

“What if I don’t want to discover myself?” Zeke asks.

All it takes from Amar is a single look to send Zeke slinking back into the crowd of Dauntless-born. It’s incredible; the way that Amar can be so affable one minute and then so stern the next, and sometimes both at once.

He leads us down a series of winding tunnels until we reach a door. Amar shoves open the door with his shoulder and inside is only a reclined chair, a computer terminal, and a huge window on the back wall.

Amar busies himself with the computer, which looks a lot like the one used for my Aptitude Test.

“This is the Fear Landscape practice room,” Amar says without looking up. “A Fear Landscape is a simulation in which you confront your worst fears.”

Arranged next to the computer is a line of vials filled with orange liquid and a sinister looking injector, with a long needle on the end.

“How is that possible?” says one of the Erudite boys. “You don’t know our worst fears.”

“What’s your name?” Amar finally glances up from the computer.

“Eric.” The boy adjusts his cobalt jacket.

“Well, Eric, you’re correct; I don’t know your worst fear. But the serum I am about to inject you with will stimulate the parts of your brain that process fear, and you will come up with the simulation obstacles yourself, so to speak. In this simulation, unlike in the aptitude test simulation, you will be aware that what you are seeing is not real. Meanwhile, I will be in this room, controlling the simulation, and I get to tell the program embedded in the simulation serum to move on to the next obstacle once your heart rate reaches a particular level; once you calm down, in other words, or face your fear in a significant way. When you run out of fears, the program will terminate and you will ‘wake up’ in this room again with a greater awareness of your own fears.” He loads the injector with the first of the vials and beckons Eric forward. “Allow me to satisfy your Erudite curiosity, you can go first.”

“But-”

“But,” Amar interrupts him promptly, “I am your initiation instructor and it is in your best interest to do as I say.”

Eric is still for a moment before he shrugs, taking off his jacket and folding it before draping it on the back of a chair. His movements are slow and deliberate, I suspect they’re also meant to irritate Amar as much as possible. He approaches Amar with a smirk on his face and Amar nearly jabs the needle into his neck, then guides him to the chair. Once he’s sitting, Amar sits down in front of the computer and connects a series of electrodes to his head. He presses a button that must start the program.

Eric’s eyes close as the simulation begins; but he does not scream of thrash or cry as I would expect of someone staring down their worst fears.

“What’s going on?” Mia whispers to me. “Is the serum working?”

I nod.

I watch as Eric takes a deep breath and then releases it, a shudder running through his whole body. His breaths are slow and measured, his muscles tense and then relax every few seconds as though he is correcting himself. Finally, Amar taps the screen, probably forcing the program to advance.

This happens over and over again, twelve times to be exact. Amar taps the screen a final time and Eric’s body relaxes. His eyes flash open and he sits up, blinking blearily then he smirks at all of us. Even the Dauntless-born, who are usually so quick to comment, are absolutely speechless. That must mean that I am right; Eric is someone to watch out for, maybe even someone to be afraid of.

For more than an hour, I watch initiate after initiate face their fears. Sometimes it’s easy to figure out what’s going on, but most of the time the demons they face are known to only them and Amar.

I shrink back every time Amar looks up to call a new initiate until it is only two of us in the room. The last one to go before me is Mia, who looks like she’s about to cry when she opens her eyes and walks out without waiting for Amar to dismiss her.

“Just you and me, Stiff,” Amar says. “Come on.”

I stand in front of him, barely noticing when the needle goes in. Needles are never something that I had a problem with, though other initiates flinched when Amar brought the injector near them. I walk to the chair and sit back, waiting for simulation to begin.

I watch the stone of the room fade away and my world is replaced with the city skyline. Far below me is the same hole that I just jumped through. Wind rushes around me, much stronger than it was when I was actually up here, whipping against my clothes and pushing me from all angles. The building I am on begins to grow, taking me even farther away from the ground and the hole seals itself up.

I cringe away from the edge but the wind won’t allow me to move away. My heart pounds in my chest as I realize what I must do; I have to jump again. I have to jump and trust that I won’t feel the pain of slamming into the concrete at terminal velocity.

A Stiff pancake.

I squeeze my eyes shut and scream into my teeth as I allow the wind to push me all the way off the ledge. I drop like a stone and as I hit the concrete a flash of white pain rushes through me for a fraction of a second. When I open my eyes again I am curled on the ground in the dark, but otherwise alive. I stand and dust myself off, waiting for the next obstacle. I have no idea what it might be, I’ve never really thought about what I was afraid of before. I’ve always had much bigger problems that didn’t exactly leave time for self-reflection. My question is answered when something hard slams into my back. Something hits my right side, then my left side, then my head. I realize that I am enclosed in a box only just big enough for my body. Shock protects me from panic at first, then I take a breath that doesn’t feel like a breath because I am already thinking about how fast I will run out of air in this dark box. It makes me feel like I am suffocating before I really am.

I bite down on my lip to keep from sobbing, I don’t want Amar to see me cry. I don’t want him to tell all the Dauntless what a coward I am and ruin the only chance at making friends I have left. I have to think, but it’s hard to think when I’m suffocating in a box and even harder when I can almost imagine being shoved into the upstairs linen closet again as punishment, the muffled sound of my parents screaming at each other in the living room, or the hallway, or their bedroom, or really anywhere in the house. I would be stuck in there for hours on end sometimes; long enough for the sound of arguing to fade and be replaced by my mother’s sobs. I would imagine monsters creeping up on me in the dark and try my best not to cry because that would only make my father angrier.

I slam my hands on the wall in front of me again and again, and then start clawing at it. It all does nothing. I put my forearms out in front of me and slam against the wall with all of my body weight over and over again, closing my eyes so I can pretend that this isn’t happening to me. But I can almost feel myself reverting into that scared child.

_ Let me out. Let me out. Let me out. Let me out. _

“ _ Think through it, Stiff! _ ” a disembodied voice shouts.

I go still, remembering that this is only a simulation.

_ Think through it _ , so how can I get out of this box? I nudge something with my toes, but when I bend down to pick it up I cannot straighten out again. I swallow a scream and press my fingers between the walls that form the left corner and pull as hard as I can. All of the walls spring apart and I can breathe again.

Then a woman appears in front of me. I don’t recognize her face, her clothes are white which doesn’t belong to any faction on its own. I move toward her and she stands but does not move, in front of us there is a table with a heavy metal pipe. I frown at the both of them.

What fear is this?

I just look confusedly from the pipe to the woman for several seconds before picking it up. It’s almost too heavy for me and I almost drop it again when she flinches. Then it dawns on me what I’ll have to do and horror rushes over me like a tidal wave. The woman gives me a knowing look, and even though she isn’t real I feel the guilt all the same.

I look around. Maybe if I just wait long enough the simulation will advance. But it doesn’t. Everything stays as it is.

“Amar?” I shout into nothing. “Amar, is this some kind of joke?” A nervous laugh forces its way past my lips. “You can’t seriously want me to...to…”

“ _ Don’t be a coward, Stiff,” says that voice again. _

My face screws up into a frown and I snap, “I am not a coward!” I whisper myself again, “I’m not.”

I swing. In those seconds before contact I think of the light leaving her eyes, this woman I don’t know, don’t know enough to care about her. But I know that she’s a person, a person just like me.

I know what this is now. I am afraid of what they will ask me to do in Dauntless, of what I will do. I am afraid of a violence inside of me wrought by my father and years of silence pressed into me by my birth faction. A violence that took hold inside of me just so that I could survive; I might have to do so much worse to survive here. That’s why I came to Dauntless, right? To survive, to live another day.

She drops like a sack of bricks, blood gushing from her head. I want to run away, but that burning shame at being called a coward propels me forward. She looks up at me, lip wobbling and eyes brimming with tears.

“I’m sorry,” I say and swing.

The crunch of her skull reverberates in my mind and as soon as the deed is done I fling the pipe away from me. Or try anyways, both crumble to dust upon contact. She wasn’t real; she wasn’t a real person. But that does nothing to assuage my guilt. The dread doesn’t leave me either. I know that something is coming; I can feel the terror and anticipation build within me. Marcus will appear soon, I know he will; I know it as sure as I know my own last name. Our name.

A circle of light surrounds me and at the edge of it I see a shadow pacing. Marcus steps into the light, but he is not the Marcus that I know. This one has pits for eyes and a gaping black maw instead of a mouth. Another Marcus stands beside him and slowly, more and more monstrous versions of my father step forward to surround me. I squeeze my hands into fists. It’s not real, it’s obviously not real.

“Angela,” he says, his voice echoey and distorted.

The first Marcus undoes his belt and the others follow suit. As they do, their belts turn to metal with barbs at the ends. They drag their belts along the floor and all swing their arms back at once. I scream at the top of my lungs and cover my head.

“This is for your own good,” the Marcuses say in echoing unison.

I feel pain tearing through me, ripping me to shreds. I fall to my knees and squeeze my hands against my head as if they can protect me, but I already know that there is nothing that can protect me. There never has been. I scream again and the pain persists, so does the voice. ““I will not have self-indulgent behavior in my house!” “I did not raise my daughter to be a liar!”

I press my hands over my ears, I will not listen to him.

An image rises in my mind of the sculpture that my mother gave me, my sole object of rebellion, one of the few things in my life I wanted for myself. As I think of it the pain begins to recede. I think of all of the objects that I’d found over the years scattered across my floor and broken, the trunk snapped at the hinges. I remember my mother’s hands with their slim fingers, closing the truck and locking it and handing me the key. I remember my mother sitting outside on the front lawn almost every night, staring up at the stars. It was her only moments of respite, her only moments of peace.

One by one the voices disappear and so does the pain until I am alone, curled up on the floor. I don’t rise from the ground, instead I let my arms fall to my sides and try to catch my breath as I wait for the next obstacle. In one blink I am staring down at the circle of light, and on the next I am staring up at the stone ceiling.

I hear footsteps coming toward me and flinch instinctively.

“That’s it?” Amar’s voice makes me relax. “That’s all there is? God, Stiff.”

He offers me his hands. I take them and let him pull me to my feet, staring down at the floor because I do not want to see his expression. I don’t want to see his reaction to what he just saw. I wish that he didn’t know what he now knows, I don’t want to be the most pathetic initiate with the messed up childhood.

“We should come up with another name for you,” he says casually. “Something tougher than ‘Stiff’. Something like Blade or Killer or something.”

I look up at him, he’s smiling and there is some pity in his smile but not anywhere close to the amount that I thought there would be.

“I wouldn’t want to tell anyone my name either in your position,” he says. “Come on, let’s go get some food.” But he stops before reaching the door. “On second thought, do you want to change out of that dress first?”

I stare at him, stunned for a moment and then nod vigorously.

He walks me to the initiate dorm and by the door is a box of identical black clothing in different sizes. Out of habit, I pick a baggy pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that almost swallows my whole upper body. I pull my hair into a ponytail and shove my hands into my pockets, not looking at Amar on our way to the dining hall. The initiates are put near the back of the room. Pierced and tattooed cooks make delicious smelling food on the other side of a wall with a long rectangular gap cut into it. The lights above paint the room in a sunset colored glow. The table closest to the initiates’ section is empty save for a little girl sitting on top of the table with her feet on the chair in front of her. She watches us all curiously with her massive brown eyes and waves when I look too long at her.

I take one of the empty chairs at the circular table after going along the line to grab my food.

“Jeez, Stiff,” Eric says, “you look like you’re about to faint.” Next to Eric, one of the Candor boys snickers at his comment.

“You all made it out alive,” Amar says. “Congratulations, every one of you managed to get through your first day of initiation with varying degrees of success.” He looks at Eric. “But none of you did as well as Four over here.”

He claps me on the shoulder as he speaks and I frown; Four, is he talking at my fears?

“Hey, Tori!” Amar calls over his shoulder. “You ever heard of someone only having four fears in their landscape?”

“Last I heard the record was seven or eight,” Tori calls back. “Why?”

“I got a transfer over here with only four fears.”

Tori points at me and Amar nods.

“That’s got to be a new record,” Tori says. She waves to someone on the other side of the dining hall. “Hey, Alison, wanna hear something cool?!”

All of the initiates at the table stare at me, wide eyed and quiet. Before the Fear Landscape I was just someone they could step on; but now I am like Eric, someone to watch out for, maybe even someone to be afraid of. Though I’m not quite sure if that second part is really what I want.

Still, Amar has given me more than a new name, he gave me power.

“What’s your real name again, Stiff? Starts with an A…?” Eric says when Amar walks away, narrowing his eyes at me. He knows something but is deciding if now is the time to share it.

The others might remember my name too, vaguely from the Choosing Ceremony just as I vaguely remember their names.

Eric never gets to continue with his thought because a delicate, dark hand comes to rest on my shoulder, making me jump.

“Congratulations.” I tilt my head back to see Azalea smiling down at me surrounded by four others. “You seem like the most Dauntless transfer I’ve seen yet.”

Eric’s impressive show in the Fear Landscape has been all but forgotten.

“I look forward to seeing your talents develop, Four.” She walks away and the others that were surrounding her cast me one last look before following. Her companions were two men and two women. The man who walks at Azalea’s side has very pale skin and jet black hair tied into a straight ponytail. The other man’s black hair sticks up in the back as if it’s made of feathers, streaked with gray and a sharp bone structure. The woman walking next to him looks almost exactly the same, but her hair flows down her back, curling and sticking out at odd angles that help maintain that same feathery look to them. And the final woman on Azalea’s left has long brown hair with a single cobalt stripe down it. I am aware enough of Dauntless to know that they have five leaders, the council leader and representative being the most important two. So I suppose that three of them are the other leaders, but then what of the fourth? I guess it doesn’t matter.

I put my elbows on the table and raise my eyebrows at Eric. “My name is Four. Call me Stiff again and we will have a serious problem.”

He rolls his eyes but I know that I have made myself clear. I have a new name, which means that I can be a new person; someone who doesn’t put up with cutting comments from snobby Erudite, someone who doesn’t put up with insults of any kind. Someone who can fight back.

I look over to the empty table with the girl again, but she has vanished as if she were never there in the first place.


End file.
